Where the Deer and the Antelope Play (Code of the West) (14 page)

“You promise?”

“What?”

“A good time. You heard me, Andrews.” She punched him in the arm, and he rolled back in the loose hay. “I can see it now,” she hollered. “Anytime you want to ignore me, you’ll just pr
etend you didn’t hear.”

“Do you aim on tellin’ me somethin’ I don’t want to hear?”

“I just might." She rolled over and straddled his stomach, pinning his arms down.

“It’s goin’ to be a long wait ’til Friday,” he whispered.

“It’s been a long two months.”

“Huh?”

“I said, ‘It’s been a long two months,’” she shouted.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on up there?” a woman called out from the barn floor.

Pepper stood up quickly, brushed the straw out of her dress, and peeked over the edge of the loft.

“Danni Mae, we were discussing the wedding.”

“Sounds to me like you were practicing for the honeymoon. Dinner is finally ready. It’s time for the party to begin.”

“Be over in a minute. Do you want us to call Wiley and Stack?”

“Everyone is already at the house. They have been for half an hour.”

“Go ahead and start without us,” Pepper called. “We got some more talkin' to do.”

“We’ll start without you. But if you don’t show up soon, I’ll send Selena to roust you out.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Danni Mae waved from the barn door. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy. You two be good, you hear?”

Pepper stuck her tongue out.

“What did Danni Mae want?” Tap called.

"They're going to start the party without us.”

He pulled her down to the hay where he still sprawled. “What about those wedding plans? Have you changed it all around again?”

“No, but I’ll have to get the reverend’s approval.”

“When’s he gettin’ out to the ranch?”

“By midmorning.”

“Where’s he spending the night?”

“At McCurleys’. I’ve got him registered to have my room. I won’t be needing it, you know.”

“Say that a little louder, would you?”

“What I said was,” she shouted, “that you and me are g
oing to be in the big bed in that big house all by ourselves on our wedding night.” She scooped up a flake of hay and tossed it at him.

Tap rolled to his feet and stepped around to the front of the loft. He swung out the big wooden door that opened to the hoist. Standing in the chilly breeze, he surveyed the ranch house yard. Already the lanterns cast a dim light into the darkly clouded scene. There was a frigid smell of snow in the air, though none had fallen for over a week.

Pepper plopped down in the hay next to the door. “What are you looking at, cowboy?”

He tilted his head, and she repeated the question.

“Just thinkin’ how much I like this place. It’s sort of all the same color at this time of the year, but the land is so quiet. So peaceful. Any direction you turn, it’s mighty tranquil. Even if the house is full of folks.

"Out in those hills,” he pointed west, “there is not a single soul for a hundred miles. Same is true to the east. Up north is the state line, and to the south, only McCurleys’. Som
etimes I feel like Abraham when he reached Canaan land.”

“It won’t always be this wide open,” she called.

Tap leaned against the door frame. The air felt refreshing to his sore ear. All of a sudden a little chip of wood flew off the rough wood door casing about two feet above and to the right of his head.

He leaned out to examine the mystery. Another place about the size of a nickel shattered into splinters only a feet away from his hand.

“Tap!” Pepper tackled him back into the hayloft. “Someone’s shooting at you.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear that gunshot?

He rolled to his left, drew his Colt, and peered out through a crack in the barn wall.

Lord, I can’t keep us alive if I can’t hear gunshots.

“Where’d the shots come from?” he hollered.

“They were long-distance,” she called. “Maybe out in those hills.”

“How many shots?”

“Two or three. I don’t know.”

“Come on. I want you in the house.” Tap grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the ladder. When they reached the front of the barn, they saw Wiley and Stack standing on the front porch aiming carbines toward the west. He and Pepper sprinted to the porch, Tap still carrying his Colt in his right hand.

“What are they shootin’ at?” Stack yelled at him.

“Me.” Tap shoved Pepper inside the house and then joined the two men. “How many shots you hear?” he asked.

“Three,” Wiley replied. “He’s a long ways away.”

“Two of the shots came fairly close. He must have been sightin’ it in. I think I’ll saddle Brownie and go take a look,” Tap decided.

“Don’t you figure that’s just what the old boy is hopin’ for?” Stack questioned.

“I don’t aim to ride straight at him. Thought I’d drop behind the barn, swing into the trees on the north, and circle back.”

“We’ll ride with you. You can’t hear a thing, and you’ll be makin’ noise you don’t even hear,” Wiley offered.

“What?”

“He said we’re ridin’ with you,” Stack shouted.

“Nope. It’s my ranch. Besides, you’ll need to stay here to watch over the ladies.”

“Wiley can do that.”

“And who’s goin’ to watch over Wiley? I can be real quiet if I don’t have you two to shout at. I better go tell Pepper.”

Stack stood guard as Tap and Wiley entered the house. The table was piled with steaming food, and the girls were scrubbed clean, doing their best to make their only dresses look fancy.

Rocky had piled her dark hair neatly up in combs. Her green dress was trimmed with a white sash about her e
xtremely thin waist. Her eyes were slightly glazed as she threw her arms around Tap’s neck and sighed. “Do you want to dance with me, cowboy? I hear there’s lots of room out in the barn.”

“Wh-what?”

Pepper sailed over and tugged Tap away. “He’s a lousy dancer.”

“I don’t like her,” Rocky complained. “She’s too pushy. And too pretty.”

Tap talked as fast as he could. “You all go ahead with the party. I’m goin’ to circle around and see if I can figure out who was target-practicin’ on the barn. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Pepper walked out to the porch with him.

“See or hear anything, Stack?” he asked.

“Nope. You ever have problems with I
ndians down here?”

“Not yet. Go on in. The party’s about to begin.”

“You think someone ought to stand guard?”

“Anyone who will fire from that distance isn’t interested in coming right into the yard. Go on in. But keep that Colt strapped to your waist.”

Stack tipped his hat and scooted inside.

“Tap, it may be a man named Little Bob Gundersen who’s ta
king shots at you.”

“Who?”

She moved very close to his left ear. “Little Bob Gundersen from McCurleys’. Did you ever meet him?”

Tap strained to hear each word. “The university fellow from back east?”

“Yes.”

“Why would he want to shoot at me?”

“He’s been a real pest, following me around and everything.”

“Everything?”

“It’s sort of like an infatuation. He thinks he’s in love with me and I should marry him.”

“What? What did you say?”

“He’s very jealous of you. He followed me out here from McCurleys’.”

“All the way to the ranch?”

“Almost. I had to chase him off with a gun.”

“You what? Was he trying to be forward?”

“Not exactly. He’s just like a dog that you have to chase away every once in a while. But he did talk about some fancy new rifle he was testing.”

“What kind of rifle?”

“A Sharps something or other.”

“That could do it from that distance.”

“Just be careful. I’ve got to figure out how to keep you out of gunfights for a few more days.”

“There won’t be any fightin’. Whoever done it will be long gone. I just want to check out the tracks and see if I can fi
gure out who it was. I’ll be back. We’ll have a nice little party. Maybe Stack will play some real dancin’ music.”

“If he does, I’m locking that Rocky in the attic.”

“She surely does crave affection.”

“I think she’s craving more than just affection.”

“You think she’s kind of gone over the hill?”

“She wouldn’t be the first young dance-hall girl to do so.”

“You certainly have my permission to keep her away from me.”

“Mr. Tapadera Andrews, I don’t need your permission to keep her and all the rest away from you. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

“What did you say?”

Pepper detected a sly grin. She stood on her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on his dry, chapped lips. When she pulled back, he started to say something, but Pepper seemed to a
nticipate the words, shook her head no, and waved to him as she slipped back into the ranch house.

The ringing in his ear gave every action the same musical background. Tap rode Brownie into the piñon pines and jun
ipers just to the east of the corrals. Then he circled north through a clump of leafless aspens and down a draw to the west that crossed the creek but kept him hidden from the ranch house and the hills where the shots came from.

Tap pulled his ’73 Winchester out of the scabbard and laid it across his lap. His dirty canvas coat was pushed back behind his holster. He kept his ungloved right hand in his coat pocket.

Staring out from a six-day beard, he surveyed the rolling, sage-dotted hills ahead of him. The lack of cover and the thin crust of snow insured visibility of the tracks. But it also meant he had no place to hide.

His hands, feet, and face turned numb after an hour of searching. He found no tracks to the north or west.

Cutting a wide circle to the south, Tap discerned two sets of hoofprints about five miles from the house.

He rubbed the horse’s neck. “Brownie, this old boy rode up toward the house and then turned around and headed south. Looks like he might be slantin’ toward McCurleys’.”

Maybe Pepper’s right about Little Bob, but then I’m not sure this is the one who took shots at the barn.

Following the tracks back toward the ranch, he came to a snow-covered rocky knoll at least half a mile from the barn. His ’73 in hand, Tap slid from the saddle and stalked over to the rocks. The snow revealed imprints of earlier activity.

He kept the horse in that wallow, laid in those rocks, rested the rifle on that boulder, fired it, and then picked up his brass.

Tap scrunched down in the snow, lying exactly in the man’s imprint. Holding his Winchester, he took careful aim on the big barn door over twelve hundred yards away.

If he knew his gun, if he had long-range sights, he could surely hit the barn door with any luck. If he had a Sharps, he could have killed me. But that university man didn’t seem like the type to be real proficient at long range. Maybe a buffalo hunter, but not a kid out of college trying out a new gun.

Tap cocked the .44-40, flipped up the sights, set his finger on the trigger, and listened to the ringing in his ear.

But why would a university man pick up the brass? Some rich guy out west on a lark. But who knows? Maybe there is some brass in this snow. It’s not nearly as crusty in the shade of these rocks.

Tap raised the vertical adjustment on the upper tang peep sight, then pulled off his left glove and raised his hand, trying to sense the wind. He pinched the horizontal eye cup to the right. Then, taking aim in the middle of the barn loft door, which was no larger than the peep sight hole, he squeezed the trigger.

That ought to get their attention in the house. But it doesn’t look like anyone’s coming to the porch. Maybe with this drift, forty grains of powder isn’t enough bang to be heard in the house.

The blast reverberated in his right ear and sent vibrations down the side of his face that either tingled with extreme pain or extreme pleasure, he couldn’t tell which. Tap cocked the lever, ejecting the brass, and pumped a new ca
rtridge into the chamber. Still lying in the rocks, he reached over to retrieve the casing and then jerked his hand back.

There it is. That’s where he dropped the brass.

Tap studied the imprint where an earlier brass casing had fallen to the snow.

A half inch longer but only a little fatter. That isn’t a .50 .
 . . probably a .45. A .45 with a lot of powder behind it—maybe a .45-60 or even a .45-75. This old boy’s got a ’76 Winchester. No wonder he had to lay it on the rocks. No wonder he could blast the barn from here. It shouldn’t be too tough to follow those tracks lookin’ for a ’76. Yet Pepper remarked that Little Bob had a Sharps. ’Course maybe he doesn’t know what he has.